A Quest For Status
by sodsta
Summary: [The Neverending Story] Bastian uses status as an excuse to act on hidden desires. (BastianAtreyu)


The current situation hadn't been planned or thought out. There had been no sitting around, thinking for hours of the best way to put him in his place, it had just come to Bastian naturally during the course of the conversation and the steadily building tension let Bastian know he had made the right decision.

The green skin's clothes were folded neatly on the chair to prevent the buffalo hide from being scuffed or marked, bow and set of arrows laid carefully against the side of the large tent, out of the way of where the two nude boys now lay together.

Bastian had watched the way Atreyu had so neatly and precisely folded his clothes as they were removed. He had expected some resistance, maybe an angry glare or a blunt refusal, but from the moment the order had escaped Bastian's lips, that annoying unreadable expression was back on the warrior's face.

This only served to fuel Bastian's inner fire and he all but growled as he watched Atreyu follow the next snapped order without hesitation. He could see no fear or resentment in the other boy's eyes as he watched him lay down on the cold, grassy floor. He could sense no bitterness radiating from him, nor could he sense panic or sorrow. It was like trying to read white text on a white page. Impossible and infuriating.

This was the exact reason Bastian was doing this. Atreyu's ever present sense of superiority had driven him to this and even laying on the ground, naked and vulnerable, it was still there, making itself known in the way Atreyu didn't speak, in the way he didn't frown or shout and in the way he didn't flinch when Bastian finally came to stand over him, now also divested of clothing and looking highly frustrated.

"Why do you continue to place yourself above me, Atreyu?" Bastian asked, looking down at the other boy as if he were a worm. "You _know_ that your quest is over and that all you are now is one of my travelling companions. You and Falkor both."

He got no answer, nor did he really expect an answer, and in truth he wasn't here for answers. He was here to show Atreyu just where he stood in the scheme of things now, to make him see that his time in the spotlight was over and save him the embarrassment of telling him so in public.

As much as this was a punishment and a way to quell something inside him he'd been feeling for quite some time, it was also for Atreyu's benefit. As angry as he was, he couldn't bring himself to humiliate his friend and comrade publicly and risk losing him. But he needed to be put in his place, and Bastian could think of no better way to do it than this.

After taking a few moments to get his temper more settled, he lowered himself to his knees with a leg either side of Atreyu's body, pale skin both contrasting and clashing with olive, and once again tried to read the emotion in Atreyu's eyes. "What are you feeling?" he asked him softly when he could make out nothing. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd asked this, but a large part of him wanted Atreyu to be scared. He wanted Atreyu to be afraid of him, to fear him, to hold him in high esteem, not look at him and see the pasty faced child he'd seen in the Magic Mirror Gate.

Atreyu took a breath, face still expressionless. "I'm not entirely sure," he said, voice nearly monotone. He'd made no attempt to move as Bastian had straddled him and didn't flinch or tense when he felt Bastian's bare skin against his own.

This response evoked mixed emotions in Bastian and he reached out and toyed idly with the end of the other boy's braided hair. "Are you afraid?" He asked, trying to make it sound as casual as possible, whilst wishing with every fibre of his being that the answer would be yes.

"Not of this," was the answer given and Bastian frowned.

"Then of what?" he asked, the edge creeping back into his voice, temper rising slightly at not getting the answer he had been wishing for. "Of me losing my memory to Auryn? Forgetting myself? Is that it, Atreyu? _Again_?" he demanded, eyes flashing angrily. He knew well that Atreyu was jealous. He knew what his motives were for feeding him this nonsense and he'd had enough of it.

Once again Atreyu was silent and Bastian took his lack of response to mean yes. He let out a heavy breath through his nose, nostrils flaring angrily, before moving slowly back, off Atreyu's ribs, and repositioning himself so that he was now kneeling between the green skin's thighs.

Atreyu's skin was a lot softer than he had guessed it would be and he allowed the tips of his fingers to brush ever so lightly over Atreyu's inner thigh, trailing them slowly upwards and only removing them once he neared the other boy's groin.

"You know why I'm doing this, don't you Atreyu?" he asked, adopting a much softer tone now as he looked down into Atreyu's eyes.

Atreyu responded with a small singular nod and Bastian smiled, satisfied that he was getting through to the green skin. Atreyu was smart, Bastian knew that. He knew he would understand, that's why he had chosen to do it this way. It was such a simple display of dominance and power that Atreyu had been bound to identify it. Any other desires that were trying to make themselves known to the sandy haired boy were pushed aside and discarded as he lifted Atreyu's legs and placed them over his shoulders as if it were something he was used to.

He watched Atreyu for a few more moments and felt a small jolt of excitement as the other boy sucked in his bottom lip and bit down on it hard enough for the small area of skin surrounding the teeth to turn white. It was only the smallest of physical gestures but it spoke volumes when Bastian watched it. Atreyu… the warrior, hunter of the purple buffalo and slayer of monsters… was afraid, and Bastian had seen it all in just that one moment.

He was quite content for the time being to just watch Atreyu's skin rise up in goose pimples as the night air blew in through the flaps at the bottom of tent and try to figure out what thoughts must be running through the green skin's mind. "Is there a reason you persist with this nonsense about Auryn?" he asked, slowly stroking his companion's thigh.

Atreyu released his lip and narrowed his eyes slightly as if deep in thought. "Do you remember the stories you used to tell back home, Bastian?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as clear and un-accusatory as possible.

Bastian nodded, idly running his fingers up and down the downy skin of Atreyu's inner thigh. "I do. But what has _this_ to do with my stories?"

"Do you remember the little girl you used to tell those stories to?"

Bastian then frowned and looked away briefly before shaking his head. "There was no little girl," he replied, turning back to the boy beneath him and looking at him suspiciously, as if it had been a trick question. Surly he would remember a little girl if there had been one.

Atreyu didn't look phased by the answer he had received, in fact, he had expected it. "You told me how you used to tell this little girl stories. What was her name?"

"There was no little girl," Bastian repeated, furrowing his brow in frustration. "If you're stalling…"

"I'm stalling nothing, Bastian. If this is what you feel you must do, then do it. We can discuss this afterwards if that is what you would prefer?"

There was a silence then and a chill breeze blew in from under the tent, throwing a stray lock of blue-black hair across Atreyu's throat. Bastian watched that lock of hair flutter in the wind for a few moments before averting his gaze and finally pushing forward, against the too tight ring of muscle at Atreyu's entrance and forcing himself slowly inside.

It hurt as he moved, for both of them. Friction against dry friction. Bastian had used no form of lubrication, nor had he intended to. This was all part of the lesson and he would get a healer for Atreyu's wounds as soon as it was over. Right now, it was his intention to put the warrior in his place the best way he knew how. The _only_ way he knew how. He could tell by the look of strain and effort on Atreyu's face that he was in pain but he noticed, also, that he made no sound, nor did he look away or ask for mercy. Bastian had expected as much and he knew he would get no verbal sign from Atreyu that this lesson was being taken in. But, for once, as much as the warrior tried to hide his emotions, Bastian could see through that veil.

He stopped when he was so deeply embedded that he could go no further, then reached out to move that stray lock of hair back to its rightful place alongside the rest of the silky, black strands fanned out around Atreyu's head. He was mildly put off by the fact that Atreyu maintained eye contact but didn't let that interfere with his teaching as he pulled back. It was still sore and movements were slow and laboured until Bastian finally felt a warm dampness surrounding his cock and knew Atreyu was now bleeding.

Both proud and plagued with a niggling sense of regret, Bastian continued, and despite the pain and obvious discomfort, he could see that Atreyu's body was responding. That was good, that meant that he had the upper hand. It had nothing to do with sex, really, and his own arousal had nothing to do with the fact that he was inside Atreyu, actually _inside_ him, as if they were moulded together like one magical being. It had nothing to do with the fact that Atreyu's flushed skin felt so warm and welcoming against his own, this was about power, about control and dominance. This was just something that Bastian _needed_ to do, for his companion's own good, for the sake of their friendship, and this is what he would continue to tell himself, because the fact that it felt so good to be surrounded by Atreyu's warm body, that fact that it felt so _right_… That didn't matter.

"I _do_ care about you, Atreyu," he said, his voice hoarse and much more ragged that he had anticipated. He looked the green skin in the eye and watched for a response. None came. He grunted as he pulled out slowly, allowing the warm running blood to coat his entire length before pushing back in and feeling Atreyu accept him more easily than before. "You have to understand that this isn't your story anymore… this… this isn't your world anymore." Bastian frowned and his fingers tightened around Atreyu's long hair, nails digging small half moons into his palm, tugging at Atreyu's scalp. The warrior didn't speak, he tilted his head to the side, following Bastian's hand and continued to stare at him. _Into_ him. _Through_ him. Into his very _soul_. The paler boy shook his head suddenly, as if clearing it and gave an extra hard thrust. "You think of yourself as some great hero. You were once a hero." He pulled out again and loosened his grip slightly on Atreyu's hair. "You're nothing now." This time his thrust was met with the smallest of moans as Atreyu lifted his hips the merest of centimetres from the cold, hard floor.

Bastian stopped for a moment and looked down between them, chests barely touching, Atreyu's olive thighs on top of his own, pressed hotly against his waist, his hard cock lying flat against his taut stomach. Sweat glistened on his skin and before he'd even stopped to wonder what Atreyu must have been thinking, he reached down and took his companion's cock in his hand and gripped it tightly. "You're not the hero anymore," he said gruffly, anger and lust and frustration and another feeling he couldn't quite give a name to, all coursing through his veins "I am. _I'm_ the hero." He moved again, back, then forward, then back, then forward, feeling the wet friction of skin against skin, building sensations in his stomach, tension in his thighs. Slowly, watching Atreyu, looking all over his face, the crease in his brow, the whiteness of his flesh as teeth bit down on lips, he started to move his hand.

This would teach him. This would make him see that he couldn't keep acting as Bastian's equal, that he wasn't good enough to be equal. Wasn't strong enough, wasn't worthy enough, wasn't enough. Things he, Bastian had had to do, stories he'd had to tell, difficulties, he'd had to endure, feelings he'd had to explore. Bastian had done so much, he had done so much, come so far, realised too many new and frightening things and Atreyu just hadn't He hadn't felt enough, he hadn't fought enough. He didn't care enough, and he had to learn. Because it was the only way he would see, that no matter what obstacles he'd had to overcome, how many dangers he'd had to face, it would _never_ compare to what Bastian had been through. Never to compare to what Bastian was still _going_ through, and this was the only way he could make him _understand_.

It had nothing to do with that horrible, nasty, vicious, burning feeling he felt in his chest every time he heard Atreyu speak, or noticed the green skin looking in his direction. It didn't, and Bastian knew this. That's what the voice in his head kept telling him, and he trusted that voice, for it had been right every time so far.

The blood pumping through his body made white spots appear in front of his eyes and he moved faster, bucked and thrust harder, moving his hand up and down, in time. Up and down, in and out. Stroke, plunge, tug, thrust. It still hurt, though, it felt good, the power, the control, the adrenaline, they made it feel good, but it hurt. Not physically, but that didn't matter, this was what he wanted, what he wantedand what Atreyu needed.

He leaned down as he moved, the tip of his nose brushing against the other boy's. The green skin let out another moan and panted heavily with exertion. Their eyes locked and Bastian could see the acceptance in his companion's eyes, despite the pain etched into the lines at their corners and each bead of sweat that trickled down over his forehead, and he had to make sure. He had to know. He let his forehead, wet and slick with sweat, rest against Atreyu's own and he slowed down slightly in order to clear the fog from his mind long enough to speak. "You know, don't you? You understand… why…. I have to do this? His voice was almost pleading now as he spoke and he cursed his inability to hide that from his friend.

Atreyu nodded, back arched and raised, hips moving slowly in time with Bastian's. "Yes…" he replied, breathless and hoarse, but no less strong. "I understand, Bastian."

Bastian closed his eyes, took a deep, unsteady breath and hissed as he moved his hips round in a circular grinding motion, feeling Atreyu's muscles clench around him and send a shock of unconditioned bliss through his whole body.

Power, control, dominance. Not enough, not enough, not enough. Hero, strength, courage. Leader. Not enough, not enough, not enough. Atreyu was not enough.

Atreyu was not _enough_.

'But he is.'

Bastian's eyes snapped open and he frowned as he looked down into Atreyu's, clear and as revealing as crystal. "You're doing it again," he growled angrily as his movements picked up pace and he thrust harshly into the boy's body again and again. "You think… you know me. You think you deserve… to stand… by my side…" His voice was hard and aggressive, his eyes clouded and unfocused as he moved. "You understand nothing. That's why… you need… to learn." He squeezed two words into a single syllable to match each thrust and as he finished speaking, his eyes rolled back in his head and his eyelids closed shut over the bloodshot whites as he came, climaxing with a low guttural moan and a last final tug on Atreyu's inky black hair.

It was as if he had passed out. He had no recollection of how long he had been lying there, he guessed it couldn't have been more than several seconds, the night was still upon them, and the sweat still gleaned on the tanned chest below his face, but it felt like he'd been lying there for hours. He blinked several times and the haze cleared before his eyes. Slowly, he moved, aware of something hard pressed against his abdomen, and finally sat up. Atreyu lay still beneath him, breath still heavy but less ragged, the lines on his brow and around his eyes now gone. He looked rather statue-like, actually, the expression on his face… unreadable.

Bastian bit his lip and moved back, wincing as he pulled himself out of Atreyu's torn and bleeding entrance. He shuffled backwards, lowering Atreyu's legs and kneeling between his companion's thighs once again. His anger seemed to have dispersed and faded with his orgasm, he was now left feeling rather empty and hollow. Looking down, he noticed that Atreyu was still hard, but he couldn't bring himself to touch him again. It hadn't been about sex, anyway.

__

Had it?

No. Power, control and dominance. That's what the voice in his head kept telling him.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself stiffly to his feet, Atreyu didn't move.

"This doesn't mean I care about you any less, Atreyu." Bastian said as he reached for his clothes and put them on, having just made up his mind not to make any further eye contact this evening. He wasn't sure if he was hoping for a reply or praying he wouldn't get one, either way, he flinched when Atreyu told him he knew. It was monotone, spoken in a way that gave nothing of how he felt away. Bastian picked up Sikanda and put it securely back in his belt. "Get dressed and wait here. I'll have someone look at your wounds," he said, half expecting Atreyu to protest. There was no reply, and Bastian simply nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

With that, he left the tent, having successfully managed to avoid looking his friend in the eye. Tomorrow it would be forgotten about, and that troublesome hot stinging sensation in his gut would be gone, tonight, however, there were other things to be done.

He made his way to Xayide's tent to see what plans had been made for tomorrow.


End file.
